Nighttime Visits
by GoWashTheLights
Summary: *SPOILERS* Sherlock spends time with John at night. Oneshot.


**Author Note:** My first venture into the world of Sherlock! I just finished the series a week ago and I'm ubseessssseed. So bad.

**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own Sherlock, its characters, etc.

* * *

I shouldn't have done it, but because it was Mycroft telling me that, I did it as often as possible. Just to drive him mad.

It had been a full six months since I'd died, and they'd been long, hellish months. For the first time in my life, I'd never been more uncertain about that decision. For my enemies, yes, but for my one friend? Well, John was more than that, but I'd never decided to tell him that. It was also my one regret.

I hid in plain sight - my room, while John settled down for bed. I knew that if he'd been thinking clearly, he'd wander in without a problem, find me there. Unfortunately, he was not; Mycroft had asked him if he'd stepped foot in here since I'd gone. John's silence was answer enough. The hours ticked by, the lights were out, and that's when I made my venture out.

The flat was always a disaster. Books and papers scattered where John would leave them, more tea cups than I'd ever seen during my stay here. Sometimes, when I was feeling bold, I'd peek out to watch him drink his evening tea. His hands trembled now, and he had a haunted look in his eyes that had nothing to do with the war. Those moments were most difficult for me - the times where I begged myself to go out and talk to him. I miss him.

He's long since neglected his blog, so I pass over his laptop and make my way to his bedroom door. It's shut now, whereas before he always kept it open. I've learned exactly how to slip by without making it creak, so I do so and step in. I listen to his steady, quiet breath for a few minutes, then inch closer. I feel my entire frame loosen at the sight, and I smile.

He's half out of his sheets, wearing that blue-striped shirt that first made me fall for him. He looks so young in it, so...utterly perfect. His other clothes age him considerably, but this is the real John before me. He turns onto his side, and my smile returns. He's in his boxers, too, the ones that hug his legs perfectly. I sigh quietly and shirk my scarf and coat; I can't just leave now. He's far too adorable.

Tossing caution aside, I slip into bed with him, facing him as I nestle close. I take his hand in mine, and he frowns. "Sherlock..." He sighs.

"I'm here, John. How was your day?"

He has the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Fine, Sherlock."

"Good," I whisper. I plant my lips into his soft hair, taking in his scent. It's been so long since I've been this close to him, so I admit I get a little carried away. I lean in, admire his sleeping face for a while, then lean in and kiss him. I don't expect him to respond, but to my surprise he does.

He even opens his eyes. I become still, ready to bolt, but then I can tell he's completely out of it. He's looking at me, though, and a smile breaks out on his lips. "Sherlock," he says, pleased, "you're here again. That's nice..."

"I should go," I reply. A stupid answer, but John's always been able to make me do that. "Ghosts don't stay for very long."

He shakes his head. "Stay as long as you can, then. I miss you, you know," he scoots closer, eyes opening and closing tiredly. We're still holding hands, but he swings his bare leg over mine and traps me. "I'm so alone these days..."

I brush my fingers over his cheek and nod. "I know, John. You'll be all right, though."

"Some days...I dunno," he admits. He looks up at me, and I can see tears in his eyes. It nearly sends me from the room - I didn't think he would cry - but I just can't. It would hurt him more for me to leave.

I just sigh and lean in, kissing him for firmly. I secretly hope he'll wake up more, and we can spend the rest of the night like this. His body certainly reacts, and he pulls me closer, but his mind is still asleep. He tangles his fingers into my hair, and I can feel that his hands are steady again. "John," I murmur, "I think...I may love you."

He pauses, and smiles against my lips. "Now there, I know you're a ghost. Or a hallucination." His voice is clear now, in that familiar tone I know so well. I decide to play along, just for old times sake.

"What brings you to that conclusion?"

"Sherlock doesn't love anyone. He does need people, though, whether he admits to it or not."

I brush one finger over his lips, chuckling. "You have me all figured out, John Watson. I taught you well - you'll be fine without me."

He shakes his head, and settles down against his pillow. "No. I need you, too. Always..."

And just like that, he's asleep again. I stay with him for a few more minutes, then hope out of bed and into my coat. I quietly head downstairs and out the front door, where there's a car waiting for me. Hopping in, I settle down on the opposite side of my brother.

Mycroft is reading the paper, but he sets it down and looks me over. "You've finally confessed, have you?"

I look away, and keep silent.

"No more visits, Sherlock. You accomplished what you set out to do, and you don't want him lingering over it."

"Yes, thank you, Mycroft," I snap irritably. As the car starts moving, I take a deep breath and look over at him again. "Thank you," I say, almost sincerely.

He smiles and almost-sincerely responds, "You're quite welcome."


End file.
